Curiosity
by serenelystrange
Summary: In which Clint's curiosity gets the better of him, Bruce and Tony are Science!Bros, and Steve may or may not be having a Big Gay Crisis. Written because even though I love me some science!boyfriends, I have love for Tony/Steve, too. Clint/Natasha in their way , Tony/Steve, Bruce, Thor, Fury, Coulson. Clint POV. Please don't hate it, :D Feedback is love, and always appreciated.


A/N – So, I know I usually write Science!Boyfriends… but I have nearly as much love for Super!Husbands… so this happened. Bruce and Tony are still Science BFFs though, don't worry.

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"I think Steve's gay."

Natasha looks up from her toenails, where she's applying scarlet red with expert strokes.

"First," she says, "You're supposed to knock when you come to my room, Clint. Second, Steve's not gay."

"He was looking at my ass!" Clint exclaims, "Not that I mind. I just noticed, is all."

"You have a nice ass," Natasha says, matter-of-factly.

"Sit," she continues, waving a hand at Clint in a way that he knows it's not a request so much as a demand.

Clint eyes the desk chair for a second, before launching himself on the bed instead, bouncing Natasha into actually laughing for a moment. He settles beside her and rests against the headboard, eyeing her newly painted toenails. Between the shiny red polish, and her casual shorts and tank top, Natasha looks like a typical college student. The thought is both amusing and disconcerting all at once.

He turns and wiggles his eyebrows at her in an exaggerated gesture, to which she just rolls her eyes and turns to toss the nail polish bottle back in her side table.

"He keeps looking at Stark, too," Clint says, "Like… all kicked-puppy and longing. It's sad, really."

"Hmm," Natasha says, "Maybe bisexual."

Clint snorts.

"Do you think he even knows what bisexual means? Did they even have gay people in the 40's?"

"You're not that stupid," Natasha says, smacking him on the knee, then leaving her hand there, curled slightly.

"You know what I meant," Clint sighs.

"Not sure," Natasha admits, "It wasn't something people broadcasted, that's for sure. He probably didn't even have anybody to talk to about it. Poor kid."

She wriggles her toes, noting with pleasure that the fast-drying nail polish proved accurate.

"He's hardly a kid," Clint says, raising one arm up to motion Steve's impressive height.

"You know what I meant," Natasha replies, smirking.

"I know that smirk," Clint says, grinning. "That's the '_this conversation is boring', we should get naked, instead _smirk."

Natasha just stares at him and then stares at the open door, pointedly.

Clint hops up and shuts and locks the door in a matter of seconds.

"It's my very favorite smirk," he says, as he starts undressing.

Natasha tosses her tank top at his head and traces her fingers down her bare breasts, giving him another, entirely different, smirk.

"Ok," Clint amends, "Second favorite."

"Shush," she says, dropping her shorts and panties to the floor in a quick sweep.

Clint shushes.

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Clint explains his theory to Bruce the next day. It doesn't result in impromptu sex, for which Clint is only slightly disappointed. He's still sore from his night with Natasha, anyway.

Their talk, however, does give him more to think about.

"I've noticed," Banner says. "That he stares at Tony, I mean."

"And my ass," Clint adds, feeling like Bruce is skipping over a very important part of the story.

"It's a nice ass," Bruce says, "But it's irrelevant."

Clint, understandable, is slightly offended.

"Why is my nice ass irrelevant? I happen to think it's plenty relevant."

"Because," Bruce explains with more patience than knows he deserves. "You have a nice ass. Anybody would say so. Thus, Steve acknowledging that fact just means he's acknowledging a known value in the equation."

"I have an ass equation?" Clint asks, not sure if he should be offended or not anymore.

Bruce shakes his head slowly and readjusts his glasses, clearly trying not to laugh at Clint.

"No," he explains, "The equation of whether Steve is gay or not. Ok, maybe equation isn't the right word. Imagine we're all at Coney Island, alright?"

Clint raises an eyebrow, but nods anyway. "Alright."

"Now," Bruce says, "We're at Coney Island, and we come across an ice cream stand giving away free ice cream."

"Ok…" Clint says, really hoping this is going somewhere.

"We all get ice cream," Bruce continues, "And everyone, Steve included, loves the ice cream."

"So, my ass is like ice cream?" Clint says, now _really_ unsure of how to feel.

"I'm explaining this really badly," Bruce says, sitting down on a stool and dropping his head into his hands.

"You really, really, are."

They look over to see Tony strolling into Bruce's lab, holding one of his fancy hollagraphic tablets.

Bruce just shrugs, reaching out for the tablet that Tony offers.

"Can you do a better job?" he asks, "I assume you've been eavesdropping for a while now."

"Duh," Tony says, turning to Clint.

"Steve liking your ass doesn't mean anything because everyone knows you have a nice ass. And people like to look at nice things. Like sunsets, or the Grand Canyon, or piles and piles of money. Got it?"

Clint grins.

"Why didn't you just say so?" he asks Bruce, who can't help but laugh at the whole situation.

"I was over-thinking it," he says, "It made sense in my head."

"Luckily, I have a Doctor Banner decoder ring" Tony says, tapping a finger to his temple.

"That's…great," Clint says, not caring in the least.

"So, if my great ass isn't a gauge, how am I supposed to tell if he's gay or not?"

"You could just ask him," Bruce offers, shrugging, "he's too nice to punch you over it."

Clint says nothing while he considers it. Tony, being Tony, fills in the silence.

"You could kiss him," he muses, "But he just might punch you for that, if he's not interested. Yeah, you should definitely kiss him."

"Asshole," Clint says, but there's no heat to it. "I'm not interested in him, anyway."

"I bet not," Tony smirks, "Not with Natasha keeping you so busy every other night. At least."

"Hey," Bruce says, noticing Clint tense up. "That's their business."

"And Steve's sexuality is his own business," Tony says, "Why do you care so much, anyway, Barton?"

"How did this become about me?" Clint says, raising his arms in defense. "I'm just curious! Why are you so defensive, Stark?"

"Not defensive," Tony says, crossing his arms against his chest and looking to Bruce for support.

"Coming off a little bit defensive," Bruce admits, giving him an apologetic look.

"You _like_ him!" Clint exclaims, hopping back quickly, in case Tony decides to swing.

"Hey, no," Tony says, "We're on you right now. We can talk about me later. Or, you know, never."

Bruce and Clint exchange a knowing, and somewhat shocked on Bruce's part, look.

"Maybe _you_ should kiss him," Bruce says, softly, making sure Tony knows that he's not mocking him.

Tony's expression falters for just a moment, a millisecond really, but Bruce sees it.

"Maybe Barton should go back to his tree," Tony replies, "And we should work on the new schematics I came here for."

Clint, in a surprisingly respectful gesture, just claps Tony on the shoulder once and leaves them to their work.

"So," Bruce says, when Clint is gone and Tony is standing beside his stool, pulling up holograms without really looking at them.

"Can we not?" Tony says, quietly. "I don't even…"

Bruce nods, knocking his shoulder into Tony's side lightly. "But if need to talk or whatever, you know I'm…"

"Thanks," Tony says, cutting him off, but with a grateful tone.

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Coulson agrees with Bruce that Clint should just ask Steve. Clint leaves Coulson's office seriously considering it, but he's not sure yet.

Fury kicks him out as soon as the words "about Steve's sexuality…" leave his mouth. Clint supposes that's fair, but it doesn't stop him from flipping off Fury's closed door.

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It's Thor, of all people, that convinces Clint of what to do.

"Any good man would rather answer an embarrassing question than suffer the oppressive silence of poorly hidden thoughts," he says, taking a long gulp from his giant mug of hot chocolate.

Clint decides the whole 'God of Thunder drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows' thing was contemplation for another day.

"And?" Clint asks, noting absently that Thor has acquired fuzzy white slippers sometime recently.

"And Steve Rogers is a good man," Thor says, giving Clint a smile that somehow emits 'giant puppy' and 'by Odin, you're being particularly dull at the moment.'

"I see your point," Clint says, nodding. "Is there any more hot chocolate?"

Thor gestures to the nearly full pot on the stove.

"Score!" Clint says, moving to pour himself a regular Midgardian sized mug full.

"These marshmallow are fantastic," Thor says, conversationally.

"No marshmallows on Asgard?" Clint asks, leaning against the marble counter, facing Thor's place at the table.

"Indeed, not," Thor replies, sipping happily.

"Hmm," Clint says, sipping his own drink.

They fall into silence, but it's a comfortable one that neither man minds.

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"Are you gay?"

Steve looks up from his sketchpad to stare at Clint in confusion.

"Huh?" he says.

They're on the roof of the impossibly tall tower, the only place Clint knew he could catch Steve completely alone.

"Are you gay?" Clint repeats, moving to drop into the lounge chair next to Steve's. "You know, homosexual? Interested in di…dudes…"

"Where is this coming from?" Steve asks, flipping his sketchpad shut and looking at Clint curiously. He doesn't seem angry, or even defensive, which somehow throws Clint off more than if he'd just socked him in the face.

"I..uhhh…" Clint stammers, suddenly aware of how dumb 'you looked at my ass' would sound.

He decides to just forget it and run, until he catches the look in Steve's eyes. It's a look that Clint has seen far too often in his past. It's one of insecurity and the burden of carrying secrets bigger than yourself. In that moment, he's sure that Steve _wants_ someone to ask, to know, and to tell him that it's ok. That he's still ok.

"The way you look at Tony," Clint says, deciding on the simplest truth.

Steve ducks his head, rubbing a hand across his neck.

"I didn't think it was so obvious," he says, sounding so tired that Clint just has to reach over and pat him on the back.

"Hey, man, relax. Nobody here would care. It's not the 40's anymore. Things have changed."

Steve looks up again, narrowing his eyes a little as he mulls over Clint's words.

"Some things," he agrees, "Some things have changed."

"It doesn't mean you have to suddenly be America's Great Gay Captain," Clint laughs, trying to lighten the mood. "It just means that you like guys. You can tell as many or as few people as you want."

"I like women, too," Steve says, "And I can't seem to figure out how courting works for them anymore, never mind for men."

"For men?" Clint says, "Or for Stark? Because he is not a good scale to weigh the typical guy on. Gay or straight."

"I'm learning that," Steve says, chuckling.

"Life's complicated," Clint says, leaning back and looking up at the few stars that have fought their way through the foggy sky.

"Now _that _never changes," Steve says, leaning back in his own chair.

They sit in companionable silence for a little while, until Clint decides he's tired.

"It'll work out," he says to Steve as he's leaving.

Steve gives him a small smile and nods, but says nothing.

Clint takes a moment to wonder how his fun curiosity turned into all these serious talks, before shaking his head at the whole thing and leaving Steve to his thoughts.

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When nothing interesting has happened in a whole week, Clint pays Steve another visit. This time, he's in the kitchen, where anybody could walk in at any moment. On the one hand, this makes Clint's plan almost definitely a bad idea.

On the other hand, that's never stopped him before.

Steve's sitting on a tall stool at the counter, with a glass of orange juice and the day's newspaper in front of him.

"Hey," he greets Clint when he notices him standing in the kitchen doorway.

Clint, instead of answering, walks right up to Steve and spins him around on the stool, before boosting himself up on its lowest rung and pulling Steve into a kiss.

Steve makes a surprised sound, but allows the kiss, even kissing back after a moment.

It's short, and not particularly exciting, just a few brief swipes of lips against lips. But it's a kiss, all the same.

"What was that?" Steve asks, looking more amused than anything else, for which Clint is grateful.

"A kiss," he replies, shrugging and hopping down to put a more comfortable distance between them.

"Yes, but why?" Steve asks.

"To see if you like it," Clint says, "Obviously. Well?"

"Well, what?" Steve says, giving Clint doe-eyes that the other man doesn't entirely trust.

"Did you like it?" Clint says, "Kissing a guy."

"It was nice," Steve says, "But there was no…spark."

Clint debates being offended for a split-second, but decides it's not worth it.

"That's cool," he says, instead. "You don't exactly set me off, either. But hey, nice is good. And it will be even better when you can kiss a guy that you actually want."

Steve can't control it anymore, he cracks up.

"What?" Clint asks, "I'm just trying to help, here!"

Steve stops laughing and looks at him seriously.

"I know," he says, smiling, "You're a good friend. It's just…"

"Just…" Clint repeats, looking at Steve expectantly.

"I beat you to the punch," Tony says, coming into the kitchen in an oversized blue robe.

A robe that Clint is positive he's seen Steve wearing before. His eyebrows nearly shoot to his hairline as he snaps his attention to Steve.

Steve, being impossibly adorable, flushes deep red, even as he's climbing down and moving towards Tony.

"Morning, Cap," Tony says, leaning casually against the door frame and grinning up at Steve.

"Mornin'" Steve says, before bending slightly to kiss Tony good morning properly.

Tony loops his arms around Steve's waist and pulls him closer, until they're flush against each other and the wall.

Clint suddenly feels uncomfortable in a few different ways.

"I'm just gonna go…somewhere else…" he says, to the still kissing couple.

With a good bit of effort, Steve pulls away from Tony long enough to look at Clint.

"Widow's in the training room," he says, "Looks like she's working up some good adrenalin…"

Clint runs.

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"Well, that explains Tony's chipper mood this past week," Natasha says late that night.

Clint murmurs his agreement, tracing idle patterns on her shoulder where it rests against his. It's not often that they lie like this, after the fact, in a way that neither of them care to admit they enjoy as much as they do.

"God, I hope that doesn't last too long," Clint says, in a sleepy post-sex rasp. "It's getting on my nerves. It ain't natural."

Natasha laughs, loud and unexpectedly, before curling an arm around Clint's chest and letting him tuck them both in under the covers.

They sleep soundly, wrapped around each other, all the way through the night.

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THE END


End file.
